So, we have a new shoe repair business in town.
Not very interesting, right? It is if you've drunkenly ruined a pretty pair of shoes you didn't want to throw away. And I don't mean by throwing up on them. I mean completely decimating them.
I needed such a business in July, when my mom dug out these pale pink heels she'd had probably as long as I've been alive that perfectly matched a dress I was wearing to my cousin's Barbie-themed birthday party. The shoes were so old that I basically destroyed the heels either on the deck, in the grass, or on the walk across the street to the always lovely Sherwood's bar. The little part on the bottom of the heel not only came off on both shoes, but somehow whatever they were made of started to peel up off of the already broken heels. I was drunk, which of course means I didn't notice until I left the next morning.
My mom told me to throw them away. I said, "Maybe there's someone in town that still fixes shoes." But she insisted. They were pretty shoes, too, and I could've gotten a lot of use out of them, themed parties aside. But no, they were thrown away. If I'd been a bit more stubborn, I could be spending the upcoming weekend having them fixed.
So, people of the Nam, if you ever destroy your shoes - drunk or otherwise - you have a place that will repair them now. Even though I have a feeling that those of us in Fayette County who care enough to go so far as to have a pair of shoes repaired are a minority.